To a Snail

A selected meditation
Among carapaces and limited sections
Of vacant silence—yet singularly, Mirrored rim-words in place.

Formation bends each message; Conceiving the glowing hosts of internal sound
Fluidly, a point strains
In many hues—self into colors dismantled.

As the tide comes,—swelling and sweeping; Repeated sprawling prints uncoil
To sound the message meant for keeping Where under heat the humid shadows are away.

• Marianne Moore